Round 23 – Collingwood v Essendon: The traumatic end

As we take our seats in the front row on ground level diagonal to the Essendon cheer squad I look up at the greyish sky and pray it won’t rain on us.

Being Father’s Day the crowd barely drizzles through the gates as Collingwood run out to warm-up, you guessed it, only metres from our seats. Way too excited to see my gorgeous Magpies, my crazed fan-girl spirit rivals that of fifteen year old Jamie Elliott -obsessed Vanessa. That’s right Almanac readers, at 23 and I’ve still got it!

And before I could even think about stopping myself my ear drums flex in reaction to the sound of my own screams:

“FASYYYYYBOYYYYY I LOVE YOU!!!!”

Before I could stop my jaw from hitting the ground a clearly amused attention-loving Fasolo, only metres away and in the middle of handballing drills, stops and fully turns around to stare at me with a huge laughing grin. And that, my friends, is the moment I actually died….okay not literally although my heart did stop. I’m pretty sure my face looked like that famous painting, ‘The Scream’ because I was caught in pure shock that he actually reacted. #lifemade

To our annoyance two Essendon muzzas came and sat in our row and proceeded to annoy the hell out of us. Telling Brodie Grundy to get a haircut when you have Heppell on your team, honey PLEEEEASE! This bloke’s measurements were way off too. He called an Essendon goal loudly and clearly in our direction, mind you, as “YEAAAHHHH RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE!!!!” to which I replied “IT WAS TO THE RIGHT, IT WASN’T IN THE MIDDDLLLLEE!!!” Yes folks this arrogant guy had me yelling back like a 6-year-old. I was praying for his sake that he wouldn’t say anything about Fasolo because I was two seconds from clawing at this idiot.

Behind us was another story that started out as a perfect Father’s Day footy picture went horribly wrong. A young boy no older than six, adorably blonde with bright blue eyes, and his equally handsome looking father; at first glance reminded me of me and my dad when I was that age. The dad was quizzing his son, who was determined to get full marks.

“I’m going to say a number and you tell me which player that is. Alright, ready? Number 15?”

“Greenwood.”

“Number 37?”

“Maynard.”

This little Magpie didn’t hesitate once. I just sat there facing the ground, smiling and listening as his dad failed to trick him by jumping from high to low jumper numbers. During the game it was quickly noticed by everyone around us that whether we liked it or not we had a mini Bruce McAvaney… As the ball was being chipped across our wing all I hear is a bright loud little voice yell “great mark by Grundy standing at 203 centimetres.” This kid knew his stuff and it was freaking heart-warmingly cute. What happened next really showed the kid’s age. The Bombers were thrashing us in clearances, absolutely killing us and they now had a little lead and looked to be in control whilst we could have been playing blindfolded and it wouldn’t have made a difference. The kid suddenly burst into tears, he was sulking because we were behind but not just crying, this kid was having a panic attack! He was having trouble breathing! Poor kid broke my heart and the jeering of the Essendon muzza next to us wasn’t helping one bit. The little fella has only to see us play finals; his little heart can’t take the shit footy we’ve been supplying. His dad’s got to toughen him up; he may be in for a long ride if we don’t sort ourselves out for next season.

Then it all came crashing down. The Bombers were three points up and I was using every ounce of self-control to keep my mouth shut, my ass glued to my seat and my fists away from the annoying muzzas. Forty seconds left, we were coming forward right in front of our seats. There was a cluster of players going up for the ball and I felt like throwing up. The umpire blows the whistle – free kick Essendon?! HE GOT HIT BY HIS OWN PLAYER, IT’S NOT OUR FAULT WHAT THE HELL UMPIRE!

WHATTTT!!!!? OH HELLLLLLL NO! My friends and I, front row right next to the action, jumped up in arms screaming, fuming, arms flying, eyes blazing looked through the umpires. The security guard knew exactly what we were thinking and stood up in front of us; eyes glued on us, as we looked like a bunch of provoked Magpies ready to swoop. All I could see was red and all I could do was lean half way over the gate, scream, swear and fling my arms in their direction.

I’m hoping it’ll take me a few months to get over the trauma; for the kid it might take years.
What a way to end the season, a season I’ll be glad to forget.

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Comments

I always enjoy your pieces, Danielle. It’s nice to know some things never change. I can imagine you when you are my age (which is nearly three times your current age) still madly in love with our cutest player and still screaming with frustration at the unfairness of the umpires and the unpleasantness of opposing fans. As Bob Dylan said “May you stay forever young.”

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